Shutting off

On good days I try. I try hard…

Sometimes my system shuts down. I cannot help it. I shut off completely. It starts with pain and ends with pain. Everything hurts to the extend that I cannot imagine surviving.

My head throbs just like an earthquake. My back curls like I am being sliced with a knife. My stomach is invaded with nausea that I cannot describe. I cannot breath. I cry and I cannot breath. My chest is contracted and I cannot find air. I force myself to breathe, yet each breath revives the pain in my body.

It goes on and on and on. I drift into sleep and lose count of the hours. I wake up and the minute I open my eyes, I feel the pain as fresh as it was before I fell asleep. I shut down.

When this happens no one can save me. I cannot take medication, I cannot ask for help. It hurts beyond my humanity.

I think I should die then and there, but I cannot do it. I am too weak or too strong I don’t know. I cannot do it for my family. Yet I cannot imagine going through this one more second.

I am a failure, nothing can convince me otherwise. I have no pride, no achievements, no future. I have immense pain shattering my body into pieces. It is worse than anything I experienced before. As if my body says it cannot live one more second, yet it remains in this pain crippled by its own doing. What is this misery ?


A clean slate

When you go through the violent experience of depression and suicide attempts because you cannot function anymore, you realize that you cannot continue living the same way and expect a different outlook in life.

When you experience a sadness that literally makes you unable to breath, and that leads you to think killing yourself would be the best possible solution, you cannot survive and believe you will be cured without changing.

When waking up in the morning alive is the worst thing that happens to you, you realize eventually that there is no more business as usual…

You need a clean slate.

That is no easy matter. I would like to entertain two notions. The notion of reason and logical thinking, and the notion of thresholds.

Logical wise thinking would assume that to feel satisfied you should rely on inner resources. You should view the world around you in a way where the one variable is you: you decide how to react, how to feel, and how to think about the million stimuli that bombard you daily. Whether you react to a song, a conversation, or to a thought in your past. It is your choice says the wise man. Grow up. It is your choice.

I can decide to be happy. I can decide to be positive. I can decide to be “in charge”. I own my life and I will act and feel accordingly. Ok.

Yet this beautiful theory ignores an element that changes everything: threshold. This is a personal attribute that varies greatly and depends on so many factors. For example, you have a physical threshold for hunger, thirst and so forth that is calculated according to your weight maybe, your BMI, how health you are, last time you ate and drank, and maybe the reason for which you are without food and water. Someone in a hunger strike might have a higher threshold than someone who is being deprived of food for other reasons, say famine or war. Yet, at the end, they both reach a point where it is unbearable to continue. When, is the question here.

Similarly, you can have an emotional threshold. I cannot watch horror movies – my threshold is zero tolerance here. Yours might be different. You might find them genuinely amusing. We would both be terrified should we become exposed to a situation with a serial killer trying to catch us. We can argue that a paranoid person would find hallucinating about being the next victim in a murder spree, feels equally terrified.

When the threat is eminent or at least is strongly believed to be, the threshold for tolerance of stress is very low. Not so easy now to think that you can be happy, or that you should remain positive, or better put the needs of the aggressor first, and try to understand that they are really a victim of their circumstances. Yes it is about you, though others might say otherwise. What can you do?

If you overcome suicide you ideally want to start fresh. You never want to go back to being in misery. You adopt maybe this motto of I am in charge, but you soon discover that your threshold is screwed up. Your sanity does not depend on you only. You know it. It is very real to you.

I know that if I keep ignoring certain things that led to my previous despair like I did in the past, especially now that my threshold for stress is minimal, I will end up in an ER. I really don’t want to.

I woke up from my mental attack to find me forced to change and the world around me is the same. So I am faced with a serious question. If I cannot ignore certain topics and the feelings that they create; if I cannot deal with the misery they trigger in me; and if I cannot change the problem and the people who created them in the first place; how can I not end in an ER in a year’s time?

Tell me about your threshold. Tell me about how you changed after your depression or most acute attack.

Is the same stuff making you tick? Do you still feel fragile and worry about breaking down? Were you able to regain you sanity? Are you really in charge a 100% or are there issues that remain out of hand and out of control? Do you feel an urge to resolve something but feel it is not in your hands?



The day before my hospitalization

As I smoke the day’s first cigarette, I wonder…

It has been decided yesterday that I will be hospitalized tomorrow.

Dread is all what comes to mind. A new place it is, specialized in mood disorders.

The ward I will be occupying will have 6 patients. Six individual rooms isolated from the outside of the hospital; from the outside world.

I worry about small details; will the room be warm enough? Will the charger reach my bed? Will they let me out to smoke?

I also worry about visitation rights. It is no prison I know, but there will be strict rules to follow.

How long will this stay be? When will I graduate to the open ward, where I will have access to the courtyard and the cafeteria? Will I get permissions to go out? When will I see my children again?

Soon enough all these mundane questions will be answered, and other ones will surface.

I will write as much as I can….


Changing psychiatrists like changing socks

Waiting again this time for my 5th psychiatrist in less than one year.

I am going because of family pressure and not for any other reason.

Waiting on the red chair for her to come out and tell me in.

Recounting endless details- oh, session is over. Why am I here?

I don’t want to hurt myself

I don’t want to hurt myself. I do not want to end up in an emergency room.

My only weapon is my writing.

I have to fight myself as much as I have to fight the system. What on earth am I supposed to do not to end up in an emergency room? How can I control my impulses?

Could my pain make my heart explode? Is this physically possible? Will I let my children see me this way? What does the system offer to those in my position? Waiting and some more…

I wish I could feel numb like the last 48 hours. Today it hurts like an open wound. Will I keep on bleeding endlessly? will I hold this scream till the end of time? Will my tears ever dry? What can I do to protect my children from me? Leave? Go where? Die? They will be motherless just like me.

I have given all my strength in this fight. There is nothing left in me, not even pride. All what I ask is for is that it be quick. This separation that is tearing me apart, could it happen in the blink of an eye?

I am rambling, scared like a lost child in a forest. How can I be a mother when I am like that? God, if you exist help me… and if you don’t, then let me be…

Help me if you can

I packed my pyjamas, I packed my socks and leggings. I packed my sweethearts, tooth brush and lenses case.

I packed my nail polish, I packed my cotton buds. I packed my headphones and I packed my bathrobe.

I couldn’t pack my children, I just packed their picture. I packed a picture with both smiling, angelic as they are. I couldn’t pack their smell, though I packed their perfume.

I packed blue-tag to hang their picture on the wall. I just pray to god to hold strong till Tuesday. I have to wait Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday. How can I bring myself to wait for not seeing them?

How can I pack my husband’s hug? How can I pack the smile of my father? How can I pack humanity in a bag?

Anyone who has gone through this please help me. I can’t stay home, the hospital won’t take me for a few days. I am being torn up alive…. Help me

On waiting

I want to be readmitted to the hospital, but there is no place for me today. Maybe there will not be either till Monday. That means I have to keep my will to go for hospitalization alive till then. That means I have to give my family and specifically my babies the cold shoulder. Otherwise, I will change my mind again.

I know no one else understands the cyclical problem I am facing. Today is the last day before the weekend. This means today is the last day before total meltdown. I want to be safe before it. For others all days are the same. The dread of the weekend is creeping up on me like a thousand ants…

Will I have the will to go after the weekend? What will happen? I keep my drugs with my father. I will not go out alone. I do not even want to go out. I have to wait and waiting is what I hate the most about this whole process. If I could manage to sleep it through…

We have to wait for doctors’ appointments, for drugs to kick in, for drugs to taper off, for places in hospitals, for visits at the clinic, for permissions to go out, for the right moment to leave the kids when on perm, for the nurse to give you the pills, for the lunch tray, then dinner tray, for healing to occur, for convalescence to endure….

We have to wait to kiss our children goodbye, we have to wait to greet our children… We have to wait to explain over and over again what is wrong with us.

To hell with this waiting, yet we even have to wait for hell..


The concept of time and depression

Yet another day unfolding, yet another 24 hours to kill. I wonder why we have to kill time when time sometimes kills us.

I used to break the day into sections; before, during and after my kids’ school. Now for a couple of days it is a continuum. I am not only fighting my illness, my side effects, but time.

Till when will this be? Till when shall I sit and watch life go by? Please do not tell me it shall pass.

You know when you are in love and talk to someone who has never experienced it? This exactly the same, they would understand you more on a “theoretical” level than on a real one.

I would do just fine if I was certain that this would end. You see I don’t mind being incapacitated by my condition- I want only to know if it my prognosis.

I lost trust in medication as much as I lost trust in doctors.

My best solution is to wait for these two weeks to be over. I just need the drugs to work – if they do. I will go back to bed now. At least I forced myself to change and to have a shower.


Depression hits again

I spent all day in bed today. The only thing I forced myself to do I to go for a jog; a mere 15 minutes.

When I was awake I smoked; I managed to finish a whole pack.

I am depressed, real down. I have nothing to do but wait for Prozac to kick in, which would be in a couple of weeks.

Even then, my hope of healing is minimal. I depend on Benzos and the one I am taking now – Rivotril- is barely reducing my anxiety.

I wake up at 4 AM everyday. Today I patiently waited till noon to get to bed again. I mostly listen to a cocktail of brainwaves. They put me to sleep. I want to induce an artificial coma, to wake up when these two weeks are over.

I am scared, I am numb, I eat motley carbs. It is raining outside. I want to sleep again.


A call for help…. I can’t beat Sunday

I thought with the new treatment I am following, that I will manage my feelings better on weekends.

It is unfortunate that nothing makes the weekend tolerable. Not my best friends coming for a surprise visit, not me going on a weekend with my family, not me getting help with another nanny specially for that, nothing works.

Please someone tell me if they feel the same like me. It is driving me insane and I have lost all ability to make myself feel better.


After my master psychiatrist left me, I have been feeling angry ever since.

I am so angry that I cannot even write. I am visiting now a new psychiatrist who seems nice enough. He did not diagnose me yet l, which is good enough. Yet this means that he probes me with all kind of questions.

He challenges my answers too, which pisses me off to an unimaginable degree.

I do not want to recite my whole story again. It is so painful. I feel sometimes that I am speaking in the third person. Her mother died in a car accident, for example.

I just wanted to share my anger that is ever so growing by the second. I am trying to tame the monster but I am getting weaker and weaker.


The monster and I

Anger is a monster whose main duty is to scare you…

It comes at night, when everything and everyone is quite…

It has big claws and red eyes, it wants you to look at it, so that you tremble and fall…

At this point you would expect that the story would turn around, and the monster will be chased far far away…

No, my monster, my anger eats me up and makes me eat up and we struggle every night. No one wins, well it mostly wins with me taking my sleeping pill that sometimes only works for a few hours. I wake up, and it is still there with red eyes staring into mine challenging me to go into battle. I know I will lose sooner or later.

So far I have kept my promise of not harming myself. But the struggle with the anger monster keeps me alive but am dead really. Nothing matters anymore. I want to eternally sleep and I have to keep my eyes opened – reminds me of a scene where Donald Duck sticks up matches in his eyes not to fall asleep.

So till when will this battle go on, and what will happen when I have no more hunger to eat to keep my eyes opened? What kind of anger will I come up with? Will it be against me? I sorely hope so. And how strong will it be, crescendo or a volcano? Will I harm myself? Will I feel this tearing up between my promise and the fantasy of death? What is this spectrum of mood disorders and where do I stand? Am I evolving forward towards a more developed syndrome? I cannot honestly answer the latest question with anything but yes.

I passed through a hell of a night, but I kept alive. The fridge and I talked together like good old best friends. You see it helps me fight the monster. I looked at myself in the mirror while passing from one room to another. I saw my reflection: I was the monster. My eyes were shot red, my hair all over the place, my skin grey…

Yet I was alive. But this is a small fake victory – for am not alive no more than the monster is real.

I am an insane mother and this monster cannot hurt my little ones. I will not allow it, alive or dead….

I know how to fake it with my children. I only do not know how much longer I will be able to do this…

But I will do it till there is nothing left of me – or in this state (a lot) if you get what I mean.

I make no sense at all, even those around me find me nonsensical. I am one day seeking hospitalization, the second minute am cracking my head against the wall to get out.

I am scared from the monster, for that monster is nothing but my own mind….